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"Undermountain? Ah, yes. Its a great place to have fun, the most famous battlefield in which one can earn a reputation as a veteran adventurer. Of course, Undermountain is also the largest known mass grave in Faerun today." - Elminster of Shadowdale.

Did anyone else have their minds blown by this map way back in the day? I did. And have loved it ever since.

Waterdeep, the City of Splendors. Greatest city in all of the Forgotten Realms. And beneath the jewel of the Realms? Undermountain. The greatest dungeon of them all. The playground of an ancient, insane wizard. Stocked with vile monsters, diabolical traps...and plenty of rewards! Incalculable wealth, of course. But also something perhaps even more valuable: Glory.

The Yawing Portal is lively tonight. A tavern made famous as being the most well known entry into Undermountain. Owned and operated by the mighty (retired) warrior Durnan. It is he who usually operates the winch over the massive well that dominates and common room of the tavern. Right now he's standing behind the bar polishing some mugs sternly looking over a common room filled with brave idiots who will part with their coin and likely their lives today. A common room that is loud and boisterous and full of patrons cheering on a brave group of adventurers daring to risk their lives plumbing the depths of the dungeons. Drinks are passed around and bar wenches are offering kisses to those who likely are about to die. Cheers and congratulations are hurled about. As well as gold changing hands as the regulars are betting on who will survive the crawl or how many adventurers will actually return.

One of the merchants stands up on his table, his tankard sloshing as he shouts, "Give us your names, adventurers! Tell who you are!!"

So, who wants to go delving?

Character Submission Guidelines
- I'm looking for 5 players to have fun with me.
- Starting at Level 3. Standard D&D 5e character creation rules plus an extra 200gp in gear to represent your previous adventures. Roll or take the average for HP past level 1.
- Stick to the core books if you please, but if there is something really cool from one of the other publications then we can talk about it.
- Be prepared for your characters to die. Undermountain is a dangerous place and I've never run a 5e game before! The setting makes it dead simple to introduce a new character every time you come back to the surface, though. So we'll figure it out. (Current players will have first right of refusal before we go to the waiting list)
- Sheets to be hosted on Mythweavers
- All characters will start the game in the Yawning Portal Inn and Tavern. It will be assumed that your characters are already comfortable enough with each other to go dungeon delving together. Whether that's because you've been adventuring together before or he seems like a good dude who she just met half an hour ago is entirely up to you.

Posts

The little Halfling had been sitting in the corner for weeks, extolling the virtues and deeds of those foolish daring enough to risk their lives in the pit that gaped from the center of the tavern. Those who are about to die on errands such as this are generally rather open with their gold, either because of their boasts about the treasure they'll be hauling home or with a resigned sigh of those who no longer consider material wealth worth keeping, and the small figure with his lute picking out simple songs was becoming something of a fixture in the Yawning Portal in recent days.

Of course, in addition to loosening their pockets, the adventurers were free with their tongues, and would brag about who had the best plan, the most detailed map, or knew certain secrets about what lay below. A man with a discerning ear and a friendly face could pick up a lot of useful intelligence and not have to set one foot in that morons' tomb.

The bartender had been in a fairly ornery mood this night, as he had been stiffed several times this week by patrons who had merely laughed away their bar tabs and dropped into the darkness below. The taunting Halfling tune in the air was becoming too much to bear.

"Mouthy!" he shouted across the room, and conversation stopped. The music halted for a moment, then picked up again, slowly, almost cautiously.

"Yes?" replied the Halfling.

"You've been making a lot of big talk over them's what go down, and those what don't make it back," the barkeep growled. The Halfling paused and took a swig from his tankard before answering.

"Big talk's about the only thing I can have that's big, Durnan," the little lute-player retorted, to a smattering of laughter and a small shower of copper coins in the general direction of a box lying on the floor at his feet.

Durnan stalked around the pit wall and approached the Halfling's table. "Y'see..." he spat, "I've been hearin' ye goin' on an' on an' on about how them poor men an' women died down there, but I don't recall you ever havin' the guts yerself to set foot in the Undermountain. Seems t'me," he continued, raising his voice to rouse the listeners, "like ye ain't got respect for them's what're settin' out on what're likely t'be their final adventures. Seems t'me like maybe ye oughta be havin' one yerself a'fore I let ye play one more godsdamned note about what goes on down there."

"By myself?" the Halfling laughed. His eyes twitched left, right, before meeting the bartender's. "Just being here's all the adventure I need, Durnan. But if it's silence you want, I can play that, too. Ladies and gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but Barran Beanfinger's last show is--" The player's speech was cut short as Durnan wrapped a meaty hand around the Halfling's mouth and lifted him bodily from his seat.

"I'll have nobody say I let anyone down inta The Undermountain alone who di'nt wan' t'go," the barkeep growled, dragging the singer towards the bar. "But it just so happens there's another group goin' in jest a few minutes, an' I'm sure they'll just be so glad t'have a figure such as yerself alongside 'em."

Durnan drew a massive length of wood, studded with nails, from behind the counter. "See... If the other folks in yer party aren't singin' praises of yer own daring-do if... 'course, I mean when... ye get back," he raised an eyebrow to some raucous chuckles from the rougher members of the crowd, "this club is goin' to be playin' you. Get it?"

The Halfling's eye twitched. "With a proposition like that, how could I say no?" He reached under his cloak and checked that his weapons were in place and that his tools were still secreted in their special pouch. He hadn't gathered nearly enough information on the Undermountain to dare start his own expedition. Passing himself off as an amiable bard had seemed to be doing wonders until tonight, but he was going to have to rely on his more dangerous training now.

As the light breeze moved across his skin, Ay inhaled. To a passerby, he could easily be mistaken for a beggar or hobo as he sat motionless, his back against the building wall. He exhaled, the sun warming his skin. He knew it might be a while until he felt it again. He listened to the birds chirping in the distance. As he inhaled, he focused himself. He looked forward to his meditation, the tranquility helping to achieve balance. A balance that might be difficult to maintain in the near term.

With a final exhale, he reached for his staff, standing as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Modestly dressed, not much about Ay was very imposing, except perhaps the small dagger nestled in the small of his back. Opening his eyes to take in the sights once more, Ay turned to enter the tavern. "The trials await," he whispered to himself.

All dwarves whisper of Undermountain. Some reluctantly, for they would rather forget the downfall of one of their own and the shame for what the depths of the mountain and mines became. Others whisper in caution, as a tale to tell unruly children who don't obey their elders, or dig too deep too quickly, of the horrors that will come out of Undermountain and steal them down beneath the ground. Still others whisper of gold, of mithral, of treasure; that Undermountain is in fact a long forgotten hoard of a lost dwarven clan that is sitting there waiting to be delved and that the monsters and horrors of the depths are exaggerated to keep other dwarves from claiming the treasure for themselves. These whispers are generally regarded as lunacy.

Dural shuddered when thinking of these last kind of dwarves. He could not imagine how the rest of his kind left the mountain to rot in darkness and evil for generations, let alone think only of riches or fame when faced with the prospect of returning back beneath the mountain. For him, the only return to Undermountain for his kind would be borne out of a sense of responsibility for reclaiming what was lost to the dark.

His family had long grown up on the outskirts of civilization, castoffs from the original survivors of the Melairkyn that fled from Undermountain so long ago. Moving from mining town to mining town, they found work as delvers, trailblazers, and the like, supporting the efforts of others to eek out a living. Dural himself found work in a similar hodgepodge fashion: from being the first into old abandoned mines, charting safe passageways and marking off collapsed or mined out areas; to signing on as a caravan guard, protecting the occasional shipments to larger centres that kept these outlying communities afloat. In his later years he even helped guide greenhorn adventurers through the wilderness surrounding some of these communities and the upper levels of mines they sword held lost dungeons (they never did, and they never listened to him telling them beforehand they never did).

All of this in Dural's mind was just preparation. He needed to prepare himself for the journey to come, to make sure that he was ready for Undermountain if he was to have any hope of bringing laughter, of the sound of picks clanging against rock, back beneath Waterdeep's feet. And so, one day, he picked up his hammer, his axe, his pack full of provisions and set out towards the City of Splendors. Reaching the Yawning Portal, he strode inside, and headed directly towards the Entry Well without a glance sideways to anyone else.

"If any of y'actually hold a measure of courage and determination about you," the pack-laden dwarf exclaimed as he rested his warhammer head first (and with an audible clang) upon the edge of the well, leaning on it as he looked about the crowd, "And y'aren't those whose eyes grown ten-times their size upon seeing a gold coin. Then I'd be willing to entertain the possibility that y'd help me rid these depths of the dark and deadly."

Salazar H'san, a name he gave himself, originally hails from Athkatla, the third child to a noble house.
Although not outright hated by his family, he wasn't present at the lavish parties and other functions that his house often held; fear of reprisals or political gains over his house meant that he was a secret to be kept hidden away.
It seemed fate hadn't quite finished piling on the problems for a house he never names, as an affinity for magic, although barely restrained, manifested itself early during childhood. Arguments were had, Salazar barely remembers what was said, but soon, after an awkward but heartfelt goodbye, he was sent off to a local wizard academy. Life seemed slightly better here, the other students didn't seem to much care for his infernal appearance, but as time went on and as Salazar grew into a man, he realised he wasn't really being taught anything. He was being studied. Whilst certainly no match for any of the older wizards there, he did make sure to spike the evening meal on the day of his unannounced departure; with the most powerful locally available laxative.
He set out into the world hoping to find a place he could call home. Years on the road have taught him that people are ignorant at best, outright malicious at worst.
It isn't all bad, though. The adventurer's life suited him. The bluffing, the lying, the sneaking around; what a rush!
His spells seemed to be becoming more potent, as well!

From a young age, it was clear that Philo was not only going to be a soldier, but a soldier bound for the upper ranks. Tall, strong, of good health and quick mind, he excelled on the athletic fields and, later, in the militia of the local lord. Skirmishes with goblins in the mountains brought him honor and the trust of his fellow fighters, and he soon found himself a sergeant, leading his men into the fight. He was known as a dedicated and inspiring leader, always looking out for his soldiers even in the thick of a battle.

But his dedication and rapid rise was a double-edged sword. Every soldier could lean on him for every task, and he never passed off what he felt he could do himself, even if other matters pressed on his time. When his soldiers' had no boots, he taught himself cobbling and made them himself, sitting in his tent long into the night to repair and replace footwear. Serving as one of his aides was thought a plum job, for he gave them little work to do, piling ever more on his own shoulders. And, for a while, it seemed he was just strong enough to carry it.

The break came in a fight with orc raiders, when Philo, exhausted from not sleeping for three days as he walked patrols, repaired boots, and kept morale buoyed up, collapsed mid-battle. He had drilled his troops in such a way that losing him cost them all control and formation, and they were swiftly routed, though they managed to drag their beloved leader to safety. Even then his men would not turn on him, but Philo knew in his heart that the judgement of his superiors was right: he had failed his men by not trusting them enough to take some of the burden off of his own shoulders. He was stripped of his rank, and soon left his home, a vagabond on the road.

The world has use for such men, and Philo soon found himself in the company of adventurers. Faced with personalities as strong as his own, he began to learn to rely on them, trust them, fight as a team. Now, the great prize of Undermountain beckons. This time, he would lean on his allies, and together be stronger than they were alone. This time, he would get it right.

Can I join temporarily, I.e. leave when my character dies so someone else gets a turn? Get enough people interested and you'd have a pool to choose from like @DaMoonRulz does for X-Wing.

Granted the more moving parts, the slower the PbP but if I or anyone else takes too long just kill our character. Hell, it's the Undermountain!

Sure, If your PC bites it then by all means you can bow out and give your spot to a waiting player (if there are any). In fact, that's now a rule! Current players get first right of refusal before we go to the waiting list.

For the record, I am not intending for PC's to die....but sometimes shit happens.

how do you want us to roll our HP gains for 2nd and 3rd levels? or just take the half hp total in the book? or are we at max potential HP at level 3 (eg. Barbarian would have 36hp before constitution mod)?

how do you want us to roll our HP gains for 2nd and 3rd levels? or just take the half hp total in the book? or are we at max potential HP at level 3 (eg. Barbarian would have 36hp before constitution mod)?

Good question. Roll or take the listed average for HP past first level.

also, @Steelhawk someone came up with an itemized list of magic loot since the DMG doesn't give exact amounts. At least we can all find a common agreed upon price for something instead of hoping its on the lower end of the 100g - 500g spectrum of uncommon goods.

Shemagh is an older Deep Gnome scholar that has spent much of his life studying mechanics and traps as well as quietly revering his god, Baravar Cloakshadow. As such he respects kobolds' use of traps but thinks of them as a blight on the realms and hardly worth more the crossbow bolt used to put them down. Lately he has taken to working on his book, A Light Discussion on Missteps, which by now is nearly half a tome. It contains all of his learning and opinions traps with varying levels of complexity. He stays in the tavern to hear tale of what fates befell many of the adventurer's and the natures of their deaths. Undermountain is a treasure trove on trap knowledge, and some day Shemagh thinks he may even see for himself...

also, @Steelhawk someone came up with an itemized list of magic loot since the DMG doesn't give exact amounts. At least we can all find a common agreed upon price for something instead of hoping its on the lower end of the 100g - 500g spectrum of uncommon goods.

Whatever method you choose (from the PHB) is fine. Roll dice here in the forums and you keep the whole set of 6. None of this re-rolling individual stats because you got a 3 bullshit. Roll 6 stats and keep 6 stats. If you want to re-roll, you do all six again.

@Fuselage - I am not opposed per se. I'm sure what you've chosen is not game breaking, but where can I see the details without buying or pirating those sources? And why is a svirfneblin hanging out on the surface anyway?

@evilthecat - This will be a play by post game. Time zones do not apply.

also, @Steelhawk someone came up with an itemized list of magic loot since the DMG doesn't give exact amounts. At least we can all find a common agreed upon price for something instead of hoping its on the lower end of the 100g - 500g spectrum of uncommon goods.

Whatever method you choose (from the PHB) is fine. Roll dice here in the forums and you keep the whole set of 6. None of this re-rolling individual stats because you got a 3 bullshit. Roll 6 stats and keep 6 stats. If you want to re-roll, you do all six again.

@Fuselage - I am not opposed per se. I'm sure what you've chosen is not game breaking, but where can I see the details without buying or pirating those sources? And why is a svirfneblin hanging out on the surface anyway?

@evilthecat - This will be a play by post game. Time zones do not apply.

Shemagh is on the surface above the Undermountain hearing about the traps people have encountered because his fellow Underdark denizens aren't so foolish to explore an obviously horribly dangerous place when they already live in one. Only the surface races can grow in such comfort and security that they would actively seek out danger with the frequency and gusto that they do. Every spell he has fills a situation that has saved his life at least once, and he packs his inventory with the same method.

Plus GFBlade helps me really optimize damage if I'm ever that close. Find Familiar is his key to triggering traps or scouting ahead past 30ft, where his Mage Hand stops at. The Rock Gnome can make a clockwork squirrel or something that moves 5ft/round and makes a noise, but I could accomplish all of what I want with a familiar and Minor Illusion. If you're not for either option I'll adjust accordingly, no hurt feelings.

got my character mostly together, mechanically. Just need to flesh out the RP stuff. I'm going deep into warlock with the rest of level progression. I got all I want out of paladin for the time being. The character sheet will be in my first post on this thread.

edit** also, @Steelhawk I'd like to sell my shield for the standard adventurer's pack on the mythweaver's sheet and use all 200g to buy a Bag of Holding if its attainable.

edit** also, @Steelhawk I'd like to sell my shield for the standard adventurer's pack on the mythweaver's sheet and use all 200g to buy a Bag of Holding if its attainable.

I'm cool with selling the shield and getting the kit...but the Bag is a no go, sorry. 1) Its an uncommon item and not listed in the PHB like I requested and 2) According to that "sane magical items" thing you pointed to (which I haven't agreed to use) a Bag of Holding would cost 4000gp, not 200gp.

The little Halfling had been sitting in the corner for weeks, extolling the virtues and deeds of those foolish daring enough to risk their lives in the pit that gaped from the center of the tavern. Those who are about to die on errands such as this are generally rather open with their gold, either because of their boasts about the treasure they'll be hauling home or with a resigned sigh of those who no longer consider material wealth worth keeping, and the small figure with his lute picking out simple songs was becoming something of a fixture in the Yawning Portal in recent days.

Of course, in addition to loosening their pockets, the adventurers were free with their tongues, and would brag about who had the best plan, the most detailed map, or knew certain secrets about what lay below. A man with a discerning ear and a friendly face could pick up a lot of useful intelligence and not have to set one foot in that morons' tomb.

The bartender had been in a fairly ornery mood this night, as he had been stiffed several times this week by patrons who had merely laughed away their bar tabs and dropped into the darkness below. The taunting Halfling tune in the air was becoming too much to bear.

"Mouthy!" he shouted across the room, and conversation stopped. The music halted for a moment, then picked up again, slowly, almost cautiously.

"Yes?" replied the Halfling.

"You've been making a lot of big talk over them's what go down, and those what don't make it back," the barkeep growled. The Halfling paused and took a swig from his tankard before answering.

"Big talk's about the only thing I can have that's big, Durnan," the little lute-player retorted, to a smattering of laughter and a small shower of copper coins in the general direction of a box lying on the floor at his feet.

Durnan stalked around the pit wall and approached the Halfling's table. "Y'see..." he spat, "I've been hearin' ye goin' on an' on an' on about how them poor men an' women died down there, but I don't recall you ever havin' the guts yerself to set foot in the Undermountain. Seems t'me," he continued, raising his voice to rouse the listeners, "like ye ain't got respect for them's what're settin' out on what're likely t'be their final adventures. Seems t'me like maybe ye oughta be havin' one yerself a'fore I let ye play one more godsdamned note about what goes on down there."

"By myself?" the Halfling laughed. His eyes twitched left, right, before meeting the bartender's. "Just being here's all the adventure I need, Durnan. But if it's silence you want, I can play that, too. Ladies and gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but Barran Beanfinger's last show is--" The player's speech was cut short as Durnan wrapped a meaty hand around the Halfling's mouth and lifted him bodily from his seat.

"I'll have nobody say I let anyone down inta The Undermountain alone who di'nt wan' t'go," the barkeep growled, dragging the singer towards the bar. "But it just so happens there's another group goin' in jest a few minutes, an' I'm sure they'll just be so glad t'have a figure such as yerself alongside 'em."

Durnan drew a massive length of wood, studded with nails, from behind the counter. "See... If the other folks in yer party aren't singin' praises of yer own daring-do if... 'course, I mean when... ye get back," he raised an eyebrow to some raucous chuckles from the rougher members of the crowd, "this club is goin' to be playin' you. Get it?"

The Halfling's eye twitched. "With a proposition like that, how could I say no?" He reached under his cloak and checked that his weapons were in place and that his tools were still secreted in their special pouch. He hadn't gathered nearly enough information on the Undermountain to dare start his own expedition. Passing himself off as an amiable bard had seemed to be doing wonders until tonight, but he was going to have to rely on his more dangerous training now.

Crap, I didn't see that Shemaugh was a fellow Rogue! Well, Barran can be filler; it's clear he isn't exactly itching to go.